Fateful

She doesn’t need to worry; I have better plans. “Thanks for the invitation, but I need to get something to eat. Tea hasn’t ended, has it? I know I’m too late for the first shift, but—” I read the truth in their dismayed faces. “Oh, no.”

George straightens his uniform jacket. “Listen here. Go to the kitchens—the staff will still be clearing up. If you give them my name, they’ll be able to set you up with a plate. Plenty of leftovers, never fear.”

Maybe he said it just to get on Myriam’s good side, but I don’t think so. Honestly, I don’t care. “Seventh Officer George Greene,” I repeat, to make sure I’ve got it right. “Thank you!”

“Have a good night!” Myriam calls after me. She might actually mean it.

I hurry down the hallway, pushing past a few other after-dinner stragglers. But already I’m doubting myself. I don’t remember this turn at all, and the corridors feel like a maze. I’m not used to finding my way around new places, since I only just left the house I’ve worked in for the past four years and the village where I’d spent my whole life before that.

Glancing over my shoulder, I look for Myriam and George, but they’re already out of sight. Nobody else around me speaks English or looks likely to; two of the men closest to me even appear to be from China. So much for asking for directions.

So I head back the way I came, to the doorway that leads to the first-class areas of this deck. Maybe I can reorient myself and get turned back toward the dining hall.

As I reach the doorway, my stomach rumbles, and I hope I won’t be lost much longer—and the doorway opens.

Mikhail steps through.

My body seems to freeze in shock. He’s hunting me after all, I think—but that’s not right. He looks as surprised to see me as I am to see him.

Only for a moment. Then Mikhail’s face steels as he clamps his hand around my upper arm, hard enough to hurt. “You’d be a fool to scream.”

“Let me go.”

He pulls me back through the door—how does he have a key?—and I try to resist, but he’s stronger. Although I want to scream, I keep reminding myself of what Alec said: Keep your silence.

Now that we’re alone in the quieter first-class corridor, Mikhail leans close to me, pinning me against the corridor wall, clearly meaning to loom over me. But I’m too tall for that. It doesn’t faze him. “How interesting to see you again.”

“I’ve told no one about—about before,” I say. “I don’t plan to.”

“Perhaps.” His eyes are so cold. I can feel that shiver pass through me again; it’s hard being so close to his hunter’s stare. He frames my body with his arms. “When I first saw you, I thought you were simply a temptation. A deviation from my mission.” The box, I think through my panic. He was stalking me that first night because he was already after the Lisles. Mikhail leans even closer to me, so that I can smell the strange, animal scent of his skin. “Or perhaps a means of whiling away an hour or so before I took care of my business with the Lisles.”

I can’t tell if that hour is the one he wants me to spend in his bed or in my grave.

And then I’m so scared I’m not scared anymore. I’m furious. I shove Mikhail back, not caring whether I’ll get into trouble or whether I hurt him. “If you try to steal from me again, I’ll tell a ship’s officer. Now leave me alone.”

As soon as the words leave my mouth, I know I’ve made a terrible mistake. Not shoving him, not even threatening to tell. Mikhail’s expression changed the moment I said steal from me. The moment I revealed that I knew whatever he really wants is inside the Lisles’ safe.

He lunges at me, gripping my arm in one hand and covering my mouth with the other. My back slams against the wall so hard it knocks the breath out of me. If I thought he was strong before, I didn’t understand the half of it; Mikhail can hold me in place, as though I were helpless. His strength is beyond anything I’ve ever known. Almost inhuman.

“That’s a very sensible plan,” he hisses as I struggle to inhale. “But I can’t have my work here disrupted by a mere woman. So why don’t I make absolutely sure you’ll never tell?”

I go crazy. I claw at him, try to push him back, wrench my neck to the side so hard it hurts. But even when I manage to scream, I know nobody will come. The first-class section of the deck is deserted except for us at this time of night; the third-class passengers probably can’t hear through the door, and if they can, they won’t have the key to get through.

Mikhail grabs my hair, which hurts so much tears spring to my eyes. He’s dragging me down the corridor, and I keep trying to clutch something, anything to hold on to, but it’s useless. We reach a doorway, and he flings it open. Just before he shoves me though, I see the sign: This is the Turkish bath.

I fall through darkness, through heat, as I tumble onto my hands and knees upon a floor of moist green and white tiles. The steam of the bath still clouds the air, as though I’d been tossed into the fog. I can’t see, can’t breathe. The main light is from the hallway, and it outlines Mikhail’s body as he walks inside after me and slams the door behind him.

I expect to be beaten, or raped, or killed.

I do not expect the wolf.

Chapter 6 (#u8c0857c3-555f-5905-b0d4-05fecd7554af)

FIRST I SEE THE EYES.

They’re green-gold. Flat and reflective. It’s so dark I can hardly make out any shapes, at least not yet, but whatever light is in this room gleams in this animal gaze.

I gasp. Hot, vapor-heavy air burns my lungs and makes me cough as I push myself away from those eyes. But I hit something—someone. Mikhail. He’s standing right behind me.

Mikhail’s laughter echoes in the tile room. I scramble away from him, toward the corner, but the eyes follow me. As my own eyes adjust to the darkness, the beast’s enormous shape appears amid the swirling steam. Pointed ears, wide shoulders, muscled legs, thick red fur.

Wolf, I think, just at the moment it begins to growl.

“He’s hungry,” Mikhail says. He has no fear. “I thought it was high time I fed him. Don’t you agree?”

The wolf lunges at me, and I scream.

I manage to leap out of the wolf’s way, but only by inches—I can sense its weight and speed as it skids past me. I catch a glimpse of its long, white teeth. Quickly I scramble to my feet and run through the opulent bath, looking for a door that isn’t blocked by Mikhail. There isn’t one, but one wall is lined with small wooden booths—for changing, perhaps? I don’t care. They have doors, and maybe I can lock myself in.

When I run into the booth, I want to swear. This wood is so thin, so flimsy. But what did I expect? They’re not meant to provide protection, only privacy. It’s all I’ve got, though. I brace myself, back against the door, and wince as I hear the wolf running toward me—it’s going to slam through, right through the door and through me—

But the wolf doesn’t hit the door. It skids to a stop just short of the booth. I stare down at my feet, terrified it’s going to crawl underneath the small gap there, or just bite at my ankles. It doesn’t. Instead the wolf starts pacing, back and forth. Back and forth. I can hear it panting, its claws clicking against the tile floor.

Though I’m still so scared my whole body shakes, I finally have a moment to think. What is a wolf doing onboard? Surely no wild animals would be brought aboard a ship, or if they were, they would be caged in the cargo hold. This is Mikhail’s doing, obviously, but I can’t imagine why.

Is it the same beast I saw in Southampton? No—this one is sleeker, redder. But it is surely another wolf, and surely now even more dangerous. If only Alec would appear again to help me. Alec, or anyone. But there’s no one here besides Mikhail.

He laughs again, though now it’s quieter—slow chuckling. As though he’s seen all this a thousand times before, but it never fails to amuse him. “How long do you think that will protect you? Three minutes? Five?”

I don’t answer. I have nothing to say to that worthless bastard.

“The wolf is very close,” Mikhail says. “Close enough to smell your blood. But he doesn’t remember how to be a wolf any longer. If he did, he would have devoured you already.”

The wolf’s pacing slows. I can hear it breathing.

There’s a small bench in the little booth, and, keeping my hands braced against the door, I step atop it. That means the red wolf won’t be able to drag me down by my ankles. It also means I can see Mikhail. He’s still standing not far from the door—but he’s taken off his jacket. His white shirt has begun to stick to his body from the moisture in the air; he’s thick with muscles, so rippled and bulky that he looks nearly monstrous. No wonder I couldn’t fend him off. Now he takes off his shoes. As he sees me watching him, Mikhail’s grin widens, and he pulls open his shirt to reveal his hairy chest. I look away so as not to give him the satisfaction. It seems clear enough what he has in mind, but how does he expect to get at me with a wild wolf between us?

Mikhail says, “If he’s forgotten how to be a wolf, then I’ll have to remind him.”

He growls—a low sound like an animal’s. Just like an animal’s. Then he screams.

I turn back toward Mikhail, half expecting to see the red wolf attacking him. But the wolf remains in front of my door, its red fur standing on end, a low growl scratching in its own throat. Mikhail is screaming, louder and louder, naked now, his body exposed—

And changing.

It’s the steam playing tricks on me. The darkness. My own fear. But no. I see this. It’s really happening.

Mikhail’s body twists and contorts, shoulder blades spreading outward, back hunching so sharply it’s as if he broke his spine. He falls to all fours, arching his neck back as his face stretches with a terrible sound like the butcher sawing through gristle. His jaws grow. His teeth seem to be stabbing their way out of his gums. And his skin is darkening—no. He’s growing black hair all over his body. Fur.